


How to Rid Yourself of An Unruly Child

by espressorobotics



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Backstory, Gratuitous use of italics, Origin Story, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espressorobotics/pseuds/espressorobotics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot on how my Warden came to be at the Circle Tower. Not edited, so comments/criticisms are especially welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Rid Yourself of An Unruly Child

Nydia didn’t understand, and she hated it.

One moment all had been right. Papae came home from the hunt and went to the fire to cook and claim their portion; mamae tended the halla and gossiped with the other herders; and Nydia played, just as she always did. She ran with all the wild abandon of any child her age, toy sword in hand, slashing demons that only she in her daydreams could see. The elders called her foolish - a girl of ten shouldn’t fantasize with such glee - but Nydia saw purpose in the games. She would learn to wield a weapon one day, a _real_ weapon, so she could defend her people and become a great hero like the ones in Keeper Marwen’s stories. She would do every good deed, save the world perhaps - if not she, then who? Nydia could not allow that responsibility to fall elsewhere. And so she played; or, in her mind, she trained.

So it was that she stopped her sprint, spitting out strands of her frizzled black hair, at the tall yew that sat behind her family’s aravel. She drew up her posture, chest puffed out as she pictured her thin tunic as fine armor, her wooden toy a true blade, and the tree as a hulking shem. He was mean looking, cloaked in shadows, with a cruel smile to match his bloodied mace - but Nydia was not afraid. She drew up her sword, almost as high as her defiantly raised chin, and charged with the battle cry she’d been practicing all her life.

Hardly moments into the battle with her stationary foe, the whinny of horses hit the girl’s tapered ears. It was a rare sound - one that typically heralded the arrival of shems. The voices of her clan members followed after, raised in protest, and mamae’s voice was among them.

Fearful for her family’s safety, Nydia ran towards the sounds, heart beating with a fierce desire. She knew why the shems were here; it was the same reason as every other time that they had chased down the clan on their horses. They wanted to lock her up in that distant tower in the center of the lake, with the other mages. 

She was the only one in the clan with the gift - not even Keeper Marwen could cast spells. And while Nydia’s magic had yet to be tamed or put to any use, she had already grown to despise it. She hated the power that coursed through her veins, hated the curse that it had brought down on her clan; while it wasn’t much trouble for such a small group to migrate as frequently as they did, Nydia knew it was for her sake when they ran from the shems, and she couldn’t stand the thought.

This confrontation would be different, Nydia told herself. They would not run this time; she would fight, and the Surana clan would fight with her, and then the shems would be the ones to flee with their tails between their legs. This time, she was ready.

The girl ran through the camp until she reached its center, where a half dozen elves stood milling about three shems on horses. They looked much bigger than Nydia remembered them last; great heavily armored men with broad shields, stamped with their Chantry’s sigil, atop mounts so tall they appeared giant from where she stood. When she ran within their line of sight, one of them pointed her out; a younger man, the only one with his helm removed, with watery eyes and a hand that shook as he gestured toward her, speaking to the others in the harsh common tongue.

At once the shems started toward her, pushing through the small crowd on their horses - Nydia stood rooted to the ground, stubborn and unafraid. After a few moments, she lifted her sword, now seeming pitifully small in her hands, and shouted for them to stop. To her surprise, they did; but only to dismount, and continue towards her with weapons at the ready. One of them held a mace. Nydia steeled herself, her grip on the toy tightened.

I will not run, she thought. I will not run. I will _fight_. I will teach them to fear me.

Before the shems could reach her, mamae and papae and Keeper Marwen appeared at her side. Papae scooped her up in his arms before she could utter a word of protest, and mamae and Marwen stood between her and the shems. The Keeper spoke in their language; Nydia couldn’t understand, but thought she was negotiating with the men. 

Their responses were angered, punctuated by threatening shakes of their weapons and shields. Nydia struggled, pleading with her father, _let me down, we must fight_. Meanwhile the Keeper seemed to run out of things to say - she could not convince the shems, that much was clear. She turned to mamae with a helpless expression. Nydia struggled harder.

Mamae and papae shared a look of understanding. Papae set her down suddenly, and turned away. Nydia scrambled to stand between the shems and her family, and cried to them to fight alongside her. They could win the battle if they fought together, couldn’t they?

No one responded. Papae kneeled down and took her by the shoulder, turning her back to the shems. Nydia stared at him, questions tumbling forth in confusion - _why do we not fight? We cannot run again! Papae, fight with me!_

A slow shake of his head only made the girl more puzzled, more furious. _Why, papae?_

Papae averted his eyes and stood, saying only, _I am sorry._

Mamae could not watch. She stood solemnly, eyes on the sky, lips muttering prayers even when Nydia cried to her as well: _Mamae! We cannot run now! Help me to fight!_

Nydia didn’t realize the shems were upon her until two armored gloves latched onto her arms and lifted her up. She yowled and wriggled about wildly, her sword never leaving her hand. But she couldn’t escape them - not without help. The mage looked to her family, to the rest of the clan, and shouted for their help, for anything at all. Not a single one moved; no daggers were drawn, no arrows nocked as she screamed for them to _fight, help me, someone, please!_

It didn’t make sense. The shems were taking her away - they dragged her backward, they wound rope round her wrists until she couldn’t even hold that useless toy - and her clan was _allowing_ it. They were not cowards, Nydia knew that. Why didn’t they fight? _Why didn’t they fight?_

Another scream tore past her lips, one final beg for assistance. Met by silence, and inaction. They wouldn’t even meet her eyes.

Magic sprang forth as she fought in vain, lightning itself arcing out from her body to stab at the shems and their horses. They shouted at her, more harsh than usual in their tongue, and one of them hit her. Suddenly she felt very drained, like some energy had been lost, and the magic ceased; and for once, Nydia cursed its absence.

Nydia’s vision began to dim as the men secured her atop one of the horses, her hoarse cries barely loud enough to reach her clan now. Tears filled her eyes, blurring what little she could see - and what she did see made no sense whatsoever in the innocent girl’s mind. Why would mamae and papae abandon her? Why wouldn’t they fight for her - did she truly mean so little to them?

The elven girl began to cry in earnest as the horses began to move, limbs too heavy to fight with anything besides desperate cries interspersed with sobs. She simply didn’t understand. She _couldn’t_ understand. 

The templars carried her far. As her parents, her clan, her home began to fade into the distance, Nydia swallowed back her tears, something hard and bitter taking the place of her sorrow. She did not understand anything, and that knowledge did not make her sad - it made her absolutely _furious_. 

The girl closed her eyes, wishing for a dream to escape in. But when she did dream, it wasn’t of heroes and warriors and wars yet to be won - it was of her family, her home. The one place she had trusted to protect her; and the one place that she had ever been let down. 

Nydia Surana - ten years of imprisonment later - still didn’t understand, and she hated it.


End file.
